Henry visited Tony once more.
Back then, Tony was younger—more arrogant and more insufferable than the Tony of today.
When Henry spoke of the need for power to face coming crises, Tony just yawned dramatically and clapped him on the back.
"Hey, little bro, you've got real imagination. You should write science fiction. But if you have spare time, skip the doom talk and party with me. I met some models—bodies you wouldn't believe."
He brushed off Henry's worries as childhood nonsense.
Henry was silent.
He knew then that he couldn't convince anyone; he had only himself to rely on.
From that day, he threw himself into frantic study, devouring every subject he could—physics, chemistry, engineering, biology.
All for the hope of changing the family's future with his own hands.
He never forgot the image of Tony, snapping his fingers to save the world and then turning to ash in Avengers 4.
Nor did he ever forget December 16, 1991—the night Howard and Maria died.
He'd warned them, begged them to build armor for self-defense. But with the tech of those years—materials, energy—they couldn't make it happen.
Tony drowned himself in parties, Howard juggled company and S.H.I.E.L.D. business with Peggy Carter. No one listened.
Henry felt helpless and desperate.
On December 16, he was desperate: feigning illness, throwing tantrums, doing anything to keep his parents home.
The affectionate couple, puzzled but doting, stayed by his side the entire day.
When midnight finally arrived, Henry looked at his living, safe parents and smiled with real relief.
He thought—he hoped—he had done it, that he had changed fate.
But fate plays by its own rules.
The tragedy did not strike on the 16th.
On the night of the 26th, the Howards went out for an ordinary dinner party.
Henry, thinking nothing of it, went to a different party with Tony.
The next day, the news arrived. Mr. and Mrs. Howard—attacked and killed.
A sense of cosmic cruelty crashed down on him.
Later, he realized: by Marvel's own ridiculous metaphysics, some things are "absolute points in time."
Escape the 16th—fate finds you on the 26th.
After that, Henry became obsessive and intense, dragging Tony—kicking and screaming—into the lab, forcing him to research day and night.
Only when the ugly, primitive Mark I armor finally took shape did Henry relax a little. Now at least Tony had a weapon for survival.
But nothing could prevent what was coming.
Even with suspicion about Obadiah, without hard proof Tony would not believe he could be betrayed.
All Henry's preplanning couldn't stop his own kidnapping, either.
Yet if not for the kidnapping, he would never have stumbled into this strange, superhuman destiny.
Watching the party swirl and music thrum, Henry finished his champagne.
He reflected that maybe all this—the irony, the heartbreaks, the surprises—was fate after all.
Hours melted away in laughter and alcohol, the party slowly winding down.
Tony, tipsy and with a glamorous black-haired beauty on his arm, wandered over.
"Hey, little buddy, it's way past midnight." He burped.
"This party's finishing, but for us, another's just starting. Let's go."
Henry smiled at the reporter who had glued herself to him and gathered plenty of exclusives tonight.
"Definitely."
The four of them left the villa together, where Happy was waiting, exhausted and long-suffering.
He barely hid his relief that the bosses were ready to go.
"Where to, boss?" Happy asked, opening the car door.
"Home!" Henry and Tony answered together with a laugh.
"Malibu villa!" Henry added, grinning.
The drive through nighttime L.A. was full of jokes and banter.
Tony and Henry's humor kept the two women—Jenna, the black-haired beauty, and the reporter—laughing nonstop.
"Honestly, Henry, your black armor's atrocious," Tony declared, half-serious as he lounged back.
"Black is so gloomy. Not my super-sunny style. Gold and red's the only way. Right, Jenna?"
Jenna smiled diplomatically:
"I think you both look great, Mr. Stark."
"Oh, please." Henry shot back.
"Your suit looks like a boiled lobster dipped in gold dust. My black is understated luxury. It's art."
"Art? That's Gothic at best! More funeral parlor chic."
Soon, Malibu's iconic cliffside white villa came into view.
"This is our secret base!" Tony exclaimed as they climbed out, showing off like a proud kid.
"It might look simple, but wait till you see the inside."
"Simple?" Henry deadpanned.
"You call a house with helipads, private labs, and its own power plant simple? Tony, your toilets are bigger than most apartments."
They entered, still laughing.
"Welcome home, Mr. Tony. Mr. Henry," Jarvis intoned softly.
"Hey, Jarvis, good evening." Henry nodded, introducing the AI to Jenna and the reporter.
"Jarvis is our all-around super-butler—he can do everything but cook or tidy my room."
"Good evening, ladies," Jarvis replied.
"It's a pleasure. Also, Mr. Henry, your room-cleaning was completed at 2PM."
Henry: "…"
They chatted their way upstairs toward the darkened living room on the second floor.
"Jarvis, energy-saving is good, but are you scrimping so hard you don't turn on lights?" Tony grumbled.
"My apologies, sir; I received no instructions to illuminate."
"Well, now you have, so switch them—"
Before Tony could finish, Henry suddenly stopped, falling silent and peering ahead.
Tony tried to break the tension:
"What's wrong, little brother? Scared of the dark, or just too drunk to find the switch?"
Henry ignored him and, instead, laughed softly.
Then he turned and patted the blonde reporter on her immaculate backside.
"Hey!" the reporter protested.
"Sorry, darling," Henry grinned.
"Take Jenna to the pool or grab a shower. My brother and I have family business to discuss."
Confused, the two women looked from Henry to Tony.
Tony, catching on, smiled.
"Go ahead, girls. Jacuzzi on the top floor is heated, and you'll love the essential oils. We'll join you once we're finished with—chores."
Still a little lost, the two women headed up to the pool, leaving the brothers to the darkness and whatever revelations lay ahead.